On The Street
by CosmicalMadison
Summary: Modern AU. Photography student Enjolras is determined to visit the city's poor district to create a portfolio showcasing their situation. Grantaire thinks this is a bad idea. Title and situation borrowed from Rent.


**Title:** On The Street  
**Author:** CosmicalMadison  
**Wordcount:** 1,106  
**Rating:** K+ (there's one s-word)  
**Characters:** Enjolras, Grantaire  
**Prompt:** From the Les Mis Kink Meme. The prompter wanted a modern, art school AU with Enjolras as a photographer documenting society's ills.  
**Summary:** Modern AU. Photography student Enjolras is determined to visit the city's poor district to create a portfolio showcasing their situation. Grantaire thinks this is a bad idea.

* * *

"You shouldn't go down there," Grantaire is saying as Enjolras pulls on his bright red jacket and situates his camera bag on his shoulder. "It's dangerous, and it's going to be dark soon–"

"That's the point," Enjolras tells him offhandedly. "Dramatic lighting makes for good, emotionally affective photos."

"_Dangerous_," Grantaire repeats, since his friend obviously didn't hear it the first time.

"I'm not stupid. I'll be careful." Enjolras gives a little wave before disappearing out the door.

Grantaire debates for all of about ten seconds before grabbing his coat and running after him.

"What are you doing?" Enjolras sighs once he catches up.

"I'm coming with you."

"Great. If we get mugged and left for dead, at least we'll be together."

Grantaire rolls his eyes, but none of this behavior really surprises him. Ever since Professor Lamarque assigned his photography students to put together a collection showcasing an issue important to them, Enjolras has spoken of nothing else but taking his camera down to the poor section of town to take pictures of the homeless there. Of course he won't take no for an answer. Enjolras never will once he's set his mind to something.

"You do have your cell phone, right? In case we need to call 911?"

"Yes, Grantaire. It is the 21st Century, it's not like people usually go around without them."

Grantaire pats his own pocket and is abashed to find that he's left his in their apartment. Enjolras gives him a look and a self-satisfied smirk that says he knows this. Grantaire glares at him.

When they exit the building, the wind hits like an icy force. Enjolras frowns up at the gray winter sky. "Those people must be freezing," he murmurs as they walk. "You know, a lot of them aren't willing to go to shelters, even now. They don't want to debase themselves any more than their situation already does."

"That's stupid," Grantaire mutters, pulling a pair of mittens from his pocket and struggling to put them on with already-chilled fingers.

"It makes sense," Enjolras insists. "They're in a terrible situation already, and their self-esteem is low. Going to some stranger for help is like admitting that they can't help themselves."

"They obviously can't, or they would have already."

Enjolras glares at him. "You don't understand."

"Nope." Grantaire usually doesn't fully comprehend these crusades his roommate is wont to go on, but perhaps that's why he sticks with him. Opposites attracting, and all that.

Soon, they reach their destination. The glow of trash-barrel fires comes from an empty lot on the corner of the next block, strange shadows thrown by the groups of people huddled around them. Enjolras slides his camera from the bag, flips it on, and raises it. Grantaire watches concentration crease his face as he flicks through to the appropriate settings and frames a shot. The camera _clicks_ softly, and Enjolras lowers it, moving forward, the other close at his heels.

Closer now, Enjolras kneels on the cold pavement and points the camera again. "_Brilliant_," he murmurs, snapping away. A ray of the setting sun slashes between the buildings, through the scene before them, and even Grantaire has to admit that, caught properly on film, it's going to look magnificent.

None of the people in the lot have noticed them yet, and Enjolras takes the opportunity to move closer, standing at the corner of the last building before the open space. Grantaire watches the tiny screen as his friend zooms in, getting close-up shots of the faces around the nearest fire.

Suddenly, a girl on the other side of the little circle looks up. "Hey!" she cries, and stalks toward them. The others watch from their places around the warmth.

"Shit!" Grantaire mutters. "We should get out of here."

Instead, Enjolras merely lowers his camera and watches her come. "Good evening," he says. Grantaire wants to smack him.

"What do you think you're doing?" the girl demands. She is about their age, wearing a decidedly cold-looking patched brown dress and a tattered newsboy cap atop her limp, dirty black hair.

"Taking some photos for a class. Trying to raise awareness," Enjolras tells her calmly.

She snorts. "Ooh, an _artist_. Never heard that one before. Get lost. We don't want you here." Enjolras makes no move, and her anger flares. "Did you hear me? Unlike you rich college boys, this is how we live. This is our _life_, not just some story for you to tell. We don't exist for you to make an A on."

"Easy, sister!" Grantaire breaks in, stepping between her and Enjolras. He's not just going to stand there and let her talk to his best friend like that. "He said he was trying to help. He's not hurting anyone."

The girl looks him up and down with a sneer, but before she can speak again, Enjolras lays a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, Grantaire. I can handle this. Look," he continues, speaking now to the girl. "What's your name?"

She glares at him for another moment before saying grudgingly, "It's Eponine."

"Eponine, you're right. You don't exist for my art, or the entertainment of others. I know that. I'm not trying to exploit you. By putting together this collection, I'm trying to raise awareness of the homeless problem in this city and get the necessary changes made. I'm trying to _help_ you."

Eponine sniffs derisively. "Artists come and go all the time. They take our images, claim they wanna help, then leave. They never come back. Nothing ever changes. Like I said, you need to go away."

"People need to do more," Enjolras says, and Grantaire notes with pleasure that passionate light coming into his eyes that always shows up when he speaks of something he cares about. "_I_ want to do more."

Eponine looks half convinced, and Grantaire doesn't blame her. Enjolras tends to have that effect on people, even with so few words. "We'll see how that works out for you," is the only thing she says, turning back to the group. "Now go away."

"Come on, let's go," Grantaire agrees, tugging at Enjolras's arm. "You've got the shots, now let's go back."

Enjolras stands fast, watching the girl as she goes. Finally, he turns with a sigh and allows his friend to lead him away. On the way back, he can speak of nothing other than "next time" and the way he will convince these people that he is for them, the campaign of change he is already plotting out. Grantaire listens raptly.

Neither of them sees the wistful look Eponine casts after them as they walk away.


End file.
